


Trust Exercise

by Forlorn_Melody



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: F/F, Face Sitting, Kink Negotiation, Light BDSM, Porn with a little plot for seasoning, Tentacle Sex, double pentration, technically it's plant vines but ya know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:01:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24992743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forlorn_Melody/pseuds/Forlorn_Melody
Summary: Harley wants to try something new, but Ivy isn't sure her girlfriend is ready to see that part of her.
Relationships: Pamela Isley/Harleen Quinzel, Poison Ivy/Harley Quinn
Comments: 4
Kudos: 153





	Trust Exercise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rookie009](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rookie009/gifts).



Ivy’s in the lab when Harley finds her, nose-deep in an experiment she’s been running all day. “Oh, hey, babe. Did you get my text?”

“Mmhm.” Harley’s hands grasp her shoulders, her fingers meandering past the collar of her lab coat. 

“So, you know that I can’t do date night tonight.” Harley’s lips find her cheek, then her ear, and the tissue culture Ivy’s been working on for the past hour _slips_ from her fingers. 

“Sure you can.” Her lips meander down her neck, as Ivy stares at the ruined culture with both horror and... arousal. Something hot roils in her belly, and Ivy stifles it as she turns around. 

“Harley _._ How many times do I have to tell you--”

“Mm. You’re even _more_ pretty when you’re angry.” Harley grabs Ivy by the lapel of her lab coat, pulling her in for a kiss. The jungle surrounding the lab roils as if shaken in a gale force wind. 

Ivy breathes her in, and pushes her back, holding her girlfriend at arm’s length. “Harl, if you want me to tie you up, you only need to ask.”

Harley flushes, biting her lip as she glances away. Ivy draws her attention back with a finger under her chin. “Do you want me to tie you up?”

“Ives…”

“Harleen Francis _Quinzel_ , I promise you I won’t ask _again_.”

“Yes!” Harley says quickly.

“Yes, what?”

“Tie me up.” Harleen swallows, her tongue darting out to wet her lip. 

“And?”

Her skin blushes pink as one of her pigtails, and Ivy almost doesn’t hear her. 

“What?”

“I said use your vines.”

“You sure?” The words fall out of Ivy’s mouth before she realizes what she’s asking. Sure, she’s usually the dominant one in bed--Ivy knows what she likes and how to ask for it. But this... _Damnit, Pamela._ What if this is too much? What if being tied up and _used_ reminds her too much of…. Ivy doesn’t even _think_ his name. She just conjures up an image in her head and sets it on _fire_. 

“Ives?” Harley says, her eyes widening and her mouth shrinking into a small _oh_. 

“Sorry?” 

“You okay, Pam-a-lamb?” Harley brushes her thumb across Ivy’s cheek, pushing a wisp of hair out of the way. God, she must look like a _mess_ right now. 

“Of course!” she lies, and a nearby _fittonia albivenis_ wilts in protest. Charlie, as she liked to call him, always is a dramatic asshole. “Go on.”

“You sure? Cause George doesn’t look so good.”

“Charlie.” Ivy sighs, rubbing her forehead. “His name is Charlie.” She nods over at the opposite corner, where a _helianthus annuus,_ commonly known as a sunflower, is giving her a judgmental stare. “ _That’s_ George.” 

“Daisy Girl...if the plants are upset, _you_ must be upset.” Harley Quinn leans closer, so Ivy has to meet her eyes. “You can’t lie to a therapist, remember?”

“I can try,” Ivy mutters. 

“I know you too well, Pam-jam. Now tell me what’s eatin’ ya.”

Now, Doctor Pamela Isley _could_ uncover her sordid history with her parents, charm school, the nice conservative _respectable_ university her parents sent her off to--the one she dropped out of and ran away _from_ , the respectable _open minded_ one she graduated _from_ , the mentor who ruined her and created her, and the day they met in Arkham, but Harley already knows she doesn’t dump her past out of the trash can for everyone to see, _especially_ when there’s a bed in sight, metaphorically speaking. _God_ , what a _buzzkill_ that would be. “I want to believe you, Harls. When you say you want this.” Ivy presses her thumb into Harley’s bottom lip. “But how do I know you’re not just _saying_ this to make _me_ happy?” Like she always would with...well. 

“Easy. You trust me.”

Does she? 

The powder-mix lemonade crashes against the opposite wall, barely missing her therapist’s head. “Stop fucking _analyzing_ me. I’m not your _rat._ ”

Dr. Quinzel doesn’t defend herself or argue against the insult. “You’ve good aim.” She does, however, flinch. Something twists in Ivy’s gut. At first, she thinks the Morton’s cafeteria slop has turned sour _yet again_ , but Ivy notices the feeling runs deeper this time, and it spreads like frost throughout her middle, all the way to her lungs. “Softball?”

Fucking _hell._ She’s feeling _remorse._ “Gymnastics.” The answer spills out of Ivy’s mouth before she can stop it. 

And then Dr. Quinzel’s face lights up like a Christmas tree. “Me too! Did you compete? Which team?” 

Ivy spills some more, and they swap memories, apparently having crossed paths without remembering the other at one point or another. Not that Dr. Quinzel would have ever recognized Dr. Pamela Isley when she was a tween with braces and an awkward smile. Or Dr. Isley would have remembered Dr. Quinzel was a spirited overachiever with a chip on her shoulder. Actually, Pamela takes that back. She can see some of it now. She also notices Dr. Quinzel’s hands intertwined with her own. And the warmth between them. 

“Please, call me Harleen.” Harleen smiles shyly, biting her lip. 

Ivy gulps. “Do all your patients get to call you that?”

And just like that the moment’s gone. But Ivy’s hands feel warm long after Dr. Isley has left the room. 

* * *

Ivy should have known this was a set up. The security guard missing from his post. The alarms turned off. The dark room where the lights should have had motion sensors and generator backup. She should have turned back the moment she noticed, but she couldn’t leave this warehouse like this. Not with one of _two_ _middlemist camellias_ sitting inside, ripped from its soil in New Zealand and brought to Gotham for a filthy _auction._

The moment Ivy touches the leaves the door slams shut behind her, and she notices the sealant sprayed on all the windows. _Oh no_. A hose hisses on the floor, and Ivy slowly feels the air being sucked from the room. _No. No. No. Not like this._

There’s no chair, no bat, nothing to break the windows with. Just Dr. Pamela Isley and the lonely Middlemist’s Red that will die with her. Pam closes her eyes, and tries not to hyperventilate, counting her breaths just like Harley taught her—

“NOT TODAY ASSHATS.” Glass shards rain on the floor, and an alluminum bat clangs against the concrete floor. “Pambsel?” Soft fingers touch her shoulder. “Ivy? Come on, Ivy. Stay with me.”

“Ivy?” Harley’s staring at her in their bedroom, her eyebrows lifted in concern.

“I trust you more than anyone else.”

Harley brushes her lips against hers. “And I trust you more than a stripper trusts her heels.”

“ _God_.” Ivy chortles despite herself. “That’s _terrible_ , Harley. Maybe I should keep you from talking.” Those words sound so...different once they’re out of her mouth. Like cinnamon candy burning on her lips. 

For once, Harleen Francis Quinnzel has nothing to say. Her mouth hangs slightly open, to the point that Ivy wants to trace it with her fingertip, maybe slip her finger past those lips to see Harley suck on— “Would you?” Harley whispers, blushing as pink as one of her pigtails. 

“I’d love to.” It’s a little unnerving how easily this comes to her. “But there’s only one thing.”

“What’s that?” Harley leans closer, her hands grasping at Ivy’s clothes, pleading without pleading. 

“What’s our safe-word?”

“Puddin’?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Batman?”

“Nope.”

“Come _on_ , Pretty Girl. You’re killin’ me here.”

“It has to be a word we both agree to, Harley. Rules are rules.”

“Says who?” Harley leans in close, her hands on her hips. 

Ivy smirks at her, whispering in her ear. “Says the woman who is about to give you a night you won’t forget.”

At this point, Ivy half expects Harley to say Arkham, but she doesn’t. “Robinson Park.” 

It’s Ivy’s turn to lose her words. Of course, Harley would name her old hideout. Well. Not just _any_ old hideout. The place where they first kissed. “That’s--that’s two words.”

Harley grins proudly, pressing a soft kiss against her cheek. “Does that break the rules, Rosey Cheeks?”

Ivy allows it. She also allows herself to check with Harley several times as she persuades a nearby _pharnera vahili_ to stretch towards them. The plant balks initially at the thought of making its flower buds large enough to penetrate, but Ivy mutters a quiet “Coward” and the plant swells to prove her _wrong_. Perhaps Peter would be a fitting name for this one? Brushing the buds, she strengthens him, _hardens_ them, really, and shoos any creatures or enzymes that would bring harm to her favorite person in the whole world. 

“Ready, Harley?”

Harley nods, biting a grin. 

Ivy steps towards her, pinching her chin between her finger and thumb. “If this is going to work, I’m going to need you to use your words, Harleen.”

“Yes.” Harley gulps a breath of air, and she closes her eyes as if she’s about to kiss her. 

Pulling out of her reach, Ivy returns to Peter, stroking a few tendrils, feigning more interest in them than her lover. “Then remove your shorts. I’d hate to ruin them.” 

“These always were your favorite, weren’t they, Red?”

Indeed, they are. “Perhaps.” Ivy can’t help but watch them slip down Harley’s cream-colored thighs. She itches to get between them but that will have to wait. “Now lay down.”

“But--”

“It’ll be easier to secure you from the bed, trust me.”

“Always.”

Again, that itch. That burning unyielding _need_ to touch every inch of Harley’s skin, exposed or not. This is just as much an exercise in patience for her as it is for Harley. Ivy whisks her fingers, curling the vines around Harley’s wrists and ankles. “Is that comfortable?”

Harley nods quickly, only to see Ivy quirk her eyebrow impatiently. “ _Yes_ , Ives,” she says, her breath ragged. 

“How about now?” The vines lengthen and grow, suspending Harley’s prone body in the air. Ivy wishes she could draw how beautiful Harley looks like this, her mouth parted and arched back, her legs already flushes with need. 

“ _Amazing_.” Harley closes her eyes. “I feel like I’m _floating_.” 

“And what is our safe word, again?”

Harley starts to say it, only for Ivy to brush between her calves with a tendril.

“That _tickles!_ ” 

“Don’t squirm.” Ivy smirks despite herself, stroking the inside of Harley’s legs, from the bottoms of her calves to the narrowest point between her thighs, edging around her center but never _quite_ touching it. 

Twisting in her restraints, Harley groans. “Don’t tease me, Pam-Pam.”

“I believe you _asked_ me to tease you. Isn’t that the point?” The tendril snakes past her middle, scratching under her chin. “To make you beg for it?”

“Please.” The vine edges back down, circling her warmth, now moist with the juices dripping down her legs. 

“Please what?”

_“Touch me_.” She pleads, seeing Ivy’s lips pressed in a thin line. “Touch my clit.”

“That’s my girl.” Ivy resists the urge to mirror the motion of her plant. Her own thighs twitch with want. Her vine grazes Harley’s lower lips, feather light in their touch, and Ivy _aches_ at the whimper slipping from Harley’s mouth. She keeps circling with smaller and smaller circles until Harley shakes and _keens_. And _that’s_ when she _drags the vine against where Harley wants her most._

“Oh fuck. Fuckity-fuck _fuck_.” Harley strains against her bonds, her hips _writhing_ against the vine. 

Ivy licks her lips. “Would you like this vine inside you?”

“Mmhm... _y_ -yeah. _”_ Harley’s voice breaks on the edge of her first orgasm. 

Then Ivy pulls away.

“No, Ives, _please_. Please touch me. I’m--I’m so _close_.” 

“I know, Harl.” Ives steps around the now _massive_ bulk Peter has grown into, caressing Harley’s own cheek with the back of her own hand. _God_ , she wants to tear off _all_ their clothes right now and just have her way, but she can’t. Not yet. “I’m going to give you something _special.”_ One nail presses into Harley’s cheek, enough to indent, but enough to break the skin. “Would you like to know what it is?”

Sweat glistens around Harley’s hairline as she looks back at Ivy helplessly. “Yeah.” She manages. 

_Shit_. She must be thirsty. “Hold on.” She snatches a water bottle, holding it to Harley’s lips. “Drink some water.” Ivy doesn’t pull the bottle away until Harley’s finished it. She downs her tea. Then she rubs her fingers together, until oily spots form on her fingertips. “This oil will heighten your sensations. Do you want it?”

Harley can’t even form words at first, but she manages. “Please, Pammin-Jammin. I need you.”

Ivy also licks her lips, her entire mouth tasting like vegetable oil, but _stronger_. And the oil packs some heat. Not enough to burn, but enough that she’ll need to wash her mouth out later if she’s going to focus on _anything_. “I need you too, Harley.” She brushes her lips against Harley’s and want hits her like a gale-force wind. With the way Harley moans into her mouth--she feels that way too. Patience. Even the quickest-growing plants need time to breathe. 

Before Harley can deepen the kiss, Ivy trails her lips down her chin, her neck, and her collar bone. She massages her shoulders, her arms, then up her sides and back down again. Ivy kisses down to her chest, avoiding Harley’s already too sensitive tits and just focusing on the valley between them, pausing a moment to listen to her quickening heartbeat. Harley squirms, and Ivy holds her steady, paying careful attention to the planes of her abdomen. Her hands move around Harley’s hips, pinching either side of her ass, covering her thighs and in between. “Oh, Ivy.”

When Ivy finishes caressing Harley’s feet, she stands up to see Harley’s face caught like a saint in a Raphaelite painting. She guides her own hands around one of the tendrils, slowly, gently penetrating her as if she were using a dildo. And when the tendril is as far in as it’ll go, Ivy grins against her ear. “Ready?”

“Mmhm,” Harley whimpers. 

Ivy snaps her fingers, and the tendril takes on life of its own, pumping in and out of her lover without any guidance from her. 

“ _Fuck!_ ” Harley gasps, her wrists twisting in her bonds as she seeks purchase to rock back against the vine. “Oh, fuck that’s good.”

Ivy finds her hands drifting down towards her legs. She clenches them behind her back to hold them still. _Not yet_. _Focus on Harley_. But focusing on _her_ and how _fucked_ she is seems to be part of Ivy’s problem. Licking her lips, she asks, “How do you feel about anal?”

“Mm?” Harley probably means to ask, but her _mm_ sounds more like a moan than anything else. 

Making a point of rolling her eyes, Ivy snaps her fingers a second time, and the vine pulls out of her. 

“No no no. Please. I was almost…”

“I asked you a question, Harl.” Ivy growls, more from arousal than annoyance, but Harley’s eyes widen.

“What was the question?”

“Do you.” Ivy grips Harley’s chin. “Like. Anal sex?”

Harley’s eyes brighten and her frown morphs into an ecstatic smile. “Double penetration?” She bites her lip. “Would you?”

“I’d love to. But first.” Ivy pulls out a familiar bottle--her own recipe. She squirts a generous amount on her fingers, and ringing a circle around Harley’s butt hole, and then little by little, probing inside with her finger. “Good girl,” she whispers in Harley’s ear. Her lover starts to tense up, and Ivy holds her hip firmly with her other hand. “Relax. You are the most amazing person I’ve ever known, and you have done the impossible time and time again.” 

“You...you really think t-that?”

“I _know_ that, Harley.” Her finger gets pulled deeper inside, and Ivy works her open gently, as Harley’s eyes glaze over and her mouth drops open. “And tonight, I’m going to make you _feel_ how amazing you are. Do you trust me?”

“ _Mm._ Y-yeah.”

“Then you’re gonna take more for me.” Ivy whispers, taking Harley’s lobe between her teeth. Harley shudders and nods, and Ivy, slowly, gently, and with more oil, adds a second finger. 

“Nn--Ivy, Oh _god_. Please. I--I need.”

“Need what?”

“ _More_.” 

“More what?”

Harley moans-- _whimpers_ in reply, “I--- _make me come,_ ” she begs, sprawled in mid-air, and Ivy raises her free hand to pull the prepared vines. “Pam-Pam, _please_.” She croaks. “ _Please_ , Pamela.”

The vine droops just inches from Harley’s hips.

_“_ Pam _ela Isley!”_ Mrs. Saint-Claire always pops the _p_ in Pamela’s name, and spittle flies out of her mouth. _How many times do I have to tell you!”_ Those skeletal hands jerk her shoulders back. _“Back straight! Like a puppet on a string!”_ Pam’s so _tired._ She just wants to go _home_. Well, maybe not _home_. “ _And_ smile _for once! It won’t kill you.”_ Mrs. Saint-Claire yanks her wild curls into a peppy poiny tail. “How are you going to win a _man_ like this?”

“Pam-pam?” Harley’s looking back at her, her eyes still dark with want and pleasure, but her eyebrows are lifted in concern.

Maybe Ivy should hold back, more. What if she goes too far? But Harley would tell her. She’d say the word. She doesn’t pretend, not in bed, not unless that’s...well. Maybe it _would_ be nice to pretend. A different time, perhaps. 

“I’m still here,” Pamela says more to herself than Harley, and she refreshes that vine until it’s erect and moving again. “Are you?” She coats the vine slick with oil, and she slips her fingers out completely. 

“Yes, _yes_ , please.”

“Then _take it_.” The vine enters her slowly, filling her already stretched hole, pumping in tandem with the other in her cunt. And _fuck_ it, Ivy reaches down and touches her own center, hissing at how sensitive she is already. 

“Yes, yes, _yes!!_ ” Harley’s always been loud in bed, but she’s never screamed like this. Ivy smirks, directing a third vine to mimic the motions on Harley’s clit that Ivy’s already doing to her own. And _oh_ , Harley shakes, _rattles,_ so full and so _hung_ she can’t move, only ride the wave as the vines move in and out and around her. “Fuck yes.”

“Are you close, Harley?”

“Y-yeah….” And then her eyes shut, and her mouth forms a silent _oh_ , and her body _jerks_ , clenching around the vines.

“That’s my girl.” And Ivy brings her down slowly until Harley relaxes, and she pulls the vines away, untying her wrists and ankles and holding her close. “How’re you feeling, Harls?”

Her lover doesn’t answer at first, nestled against Ivy’s breast, her eyes distant and warm. “Thank you.” Harley nestles into her breast, breathing her in. “I feel amazing, _as promised_.” She giggles, and Ivy’s so busy laughing with her to notice the hand creeping towards her now naked legs. “Oooooo. What’s this?”

Ivy gasps, unable to help her moan at Harley’s touch. “Harley, you don’t have to--”

“Jesus _fuck_ , you’re wet. Why didn’ you say somethin’?” Harley toys with her, circling her engorged clit and playing with her labia.

Ivy can’t bring herself to her own defense, too focused on how nice Harley’s fingers feel. She squirms, gripping Harley’s shoulders. “Harley--”

“Shh. C’mere. Lemme return the favor.” And then Harley lays back on a newly formed flower bed. With strength Ivy didn’t think she’d have at this point; Harley pulls Ivy’s thighs towards her face. 

“You sure?”

“Isely you’ve gotta stop asking me that.” She tilts her head up, kissing the inside of Ivy’s thigh. “I love you. Of _course,_ I’m sure.” Her lips drift toward Ivy’s center, half-cleaning up the mess they’ve made, half-making it worse. 

Biting her lip, Ivy swallows her gasps, trying to hold on. “Harl, I--” _Oh_. It’s like she’s never felt another’s mouth on her, though clearly Harley (among others) have been down more than she can count. 

“Shh,” Harley manages to say between long licks. She edges the tip of her tongue around her clit, drinking her in without drying her up. _Fuck,_ she still has pleasure oil on her tongue. Not as strong as at first, but Ivy doesn’t need _that_ strength. 

Maybe that’s what love is. Trust that the other person won’t let you fall when you step too far off the ledge. Someone to hold your hand when you _do_ fall, so you can fall down together. Someone to pick you back up. “Harley, I need-- _oh.”_ Ivy groans.

“‘S okay, Ives. Ride me.”

Ivy doesn’t need to be told twice. She grinds down, not so hard as to smother Harley, but enough to feel her mouth that much _more_. Oh god, _fuck_ , she’s sucking her clit and--

When Ivy comes to, she’s lying on her side, with Harley playing the big spoon. “Holy shit, Harley,” she says, her mouth dry as cotton. 

“Your turn,” Harley shoves the water bottle in her face, and Ivy drinks it dry. “Not bad, eh?”

“Not bad at all.”


End file.
